


Win, Lose or Draw

by Andeh



Category: Sparks Nevada Marshal on Mars, The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:19:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1370314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andeh/pseuds/Andeh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sparks Nevada shows down with Billy the Bot. Croach fulfills his onus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Showdown

"Any last words, Nevada, 'fore I gun you down in this here street we're on?" screamed Billy the Bot, his raucous drawl emitting from his robotic voice box with surprising volume.

"They ain't gonna be my last, but I reckon I got some." muttered Sparks, tersely.

"Well, spit 'em out while y'still got a mouth to spit 'em with." Billy threatened.

"With which to spit 'em." corrected the marshal.

"What?" the robot demanded, confounded by the marshal's intent.

"With which to spit them. Ending a sentence with a preposition ain't the proper way to talk, and that's twice you've done it." There was a threat in there, somewhere, buried amongst Sparks Nevada's irritation.

"You really aimin' to fix my grammar with your last breath, Nevada? Would'a thought a meatbag like you might want to say something more poetical before he dies, not that it's any concern a'mine." drawled Billy, his tone shifting from disbelief to cockiness.

"Yeah, that ain't my last breath, seein' as how I'm about to gun you down. Just figured YOUR last breath might as well be spent saying something correctly." Sparks retorted, switching his stance to allow him easier access to his laser pistols.

"Jokes on you, Nevada, robots don't have-"

"-don't have breath, I know. It's a figure of speech, just...c'mon guy, just draw already." The marshal finished, irritated at the technicality.

The robot began to accommodate the marshal's request, the hissing and whirring of servo-motors accompanying the rapid movement of Billy the Bot's arm as it neared his holster. Sparks Nevada did likewise, albeit without the hissing. His fingers flexed, hovering over the grip of his laser pistol, ready to draw at the instant that Billy did. He squinted in the noonday sun, trying to ignore the glare from the bright white sun as it hung in the red Martian sky. He sniffed, his nose irritated by the dry heat and dusty Martian soil. Bells were ringing in the distance; no doubt the space-crazy preacher at the old mission was to blame. He could hear a cacophony of hooting and hollering from inside O'Tooles' bar, people getting drunk and likely about to start a brawl. He tried to ignore all of it, shut it out and focus on Billy's robotic hand as it drew ever closer to his gun. 

When the robot's fingers made contact with his gun, everything was over in an instant, though it seemed to take an eternity. The sleek sound of metal sliding past Sparks' trusty leather holster - he loved that sound. The feeling of the still Martian air on his arm as he raised it upwards. The squeeze of his finger on the trigger, not too soft, not too hard. The whirr as the power source engaged, charged up and released in the space of a microsecond, and the slight kick that followed. The blast of pink light accompanied by the rapid "pew" sound, the sharp ozone smell of scorched air as the bolt was sent flying into Billy the Bot's chest. As the smoke and dust cleared, Sparks could see the hole he'd blown into Billy's chassis, now filled with burned metal and frayed wires.

"Y-you got me, Nevada. You...got...me." the bot exclaimed with genuine surprise, as the light rapidly drained out of his ocular sensors. The mechanical husk swayed before falling over with a loud, metallic "thunk" into the dirt.

"Told you it wasn't gonna be my last-ah, you can't hear me." the marshal realised, before turning away. There was an eerie silence in the air since he'd shot his gun, which was only now broken by the bar brawl resuming at O'Tooles. "Reckon I ought to see to that, 'fore it gets out of hand." Sparks stated to no-one in particular, as he started towards the bar.


	2. Calculations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Croach fulfills his onus and must return to his tribe.

The flash of pink light, the distinctive sound of a laser pistol firing. Croach the Tracker detected it in ten different ways, but all of them indicated one thing: trouble. Croach was confident that the sound was that of Sparks Nevada’s gun, though of course that did not mean it was Sparks Nevada who fired it. The human may have been disarmed, his gun turned against him. Perhaps it was a warning shot, or the first of many. Croach spurred his hoversaddle faster, riding swiftly to the site of the laser’s discharge. His olfactory senses led him onward, towards the centre of town.

With his myriad of senses, Croach the Tracker detected two figures, one human and one robot. The human, Sparks Nevada, was holding his trusty laser pistol and pointing it at the smoking body of a robot. Croach could see the after-image of a laser blast in three of his visual senses, the residual heat and light left by such power. He detected the identification plate on the robot and recognised it as Billy the Bot, a defective robot who had caused many problems for them both in the past.

The human, Sparks Nevada, muttered something to himself before turning and walking away. Croach the Tracker was relieved that the human was safe, and shame that he was not present to assist the marshal, though Sparks Nevada would have declared that his help was unnecessary. It appeared as though this was the aftermath of a ‘show down’, a curious human ritual that Sparks Nevada seemed to have won.

Suddenly, Croach the Tracker detected change in Billy the Bot’s systems. Electrical pulses, light and noise: he had rebooted. The robot’s body jerked to life and raised its gun at Sparks Nevada’s back, readying to fire. Croach panicked, yelling out “SPARKS NEVADA!” as loudly as he could, all the while drawing his quantum bow.

The Martian knocked and released a techno arrow, it flickered purple and blue as it flashed in and out of space-time before lodging into the robot outlaw's chest, creating electric blue sparks as it impacted. The bot was wounded enough to power down and stay that way, but he was confident such a shot would not be lethal; bots were made of sturdier stuff than humans: approximately 97% titanium steel, 2.1% copper and trace amounts of iridium and palladium, according to six of his olfactory senses.

Sparks Nevada was saved. The Martian felt a powerful, almost visceral sensation as his onus reduced. He was so used to the ebb and flow of onus, the almost subconscious tallying of obligation that all Martians perform, but this felt different. There was the pride, of course, that accompanied a reduction in onus, but also a sense of unease. Croach the Tracker pondered why he would be uneasy about reducing his onus; it was an action deemed honourable by his tribe. After several moments, he realised he was uneasy as it meant that soon he would no longer be under onus to Sparks Nevada, and that was a situation to which he had grown accustomed.

Accompanying Sparks Nevada felt... good, he decided. He felt useful, his tracking skills were often of use to the marshal, and together they had accomplished a great deal in protecting and improving life on G'loot Praktaw. Still, when his onus was complete, he would be required to return to his tribe and continue serving them, as dictated by the Collected Scrolls of G'loot Praktaw, the articles that all Martians must follow. Failure to return to his tribe would mean being spurned and shunned, as well as being under even more onus to his tribe, and yet, the Martian was conflicted.

The human, Sparks Nevada, arose from the ground and removed the dust from his clothing. Croach could detect the vibrations in the human’s throat before he began to speak. His senses noticed the tension in Sparks Nevada’s throat, the simultaneous relief and reluctance in his face. “Thanks pal. I mean, I could’a taken him, obviously, but uh. Reckon I owe you one.” the human stated, gruffly, trying to downplay his gratitude and save face.

“Sparks Nevada, you do not ‘owe me one’. I have saved your life from Billy the Bot, and for that I have reduced my onus to you.” the Martian replied, affronted by Sparks Nevada’s attempt to place himself under onus.

Croach the Tracker’s mind whirled as he calculated with lightning speed. It had become so routine, the slow, methodical reduction of onus, the occasional accumulation when Sparks Nevada performed some favour or kindness to him. Only now, in a sudden panic, did Croach the Tracker realise the significance of his act. _His onus was complete._ His debt was paid. This act was great enough to repay the last of his obligation to Sparks Nevada.

“Sparks Nevada. I realise now, in saving your life, I have finally fulfilled my onus to you.” Croach stated, his calm tone belying the conflict in his mind.

The marshal responded with a grunt, indicating he had heard Croach, but quickly followed with a confused “Wait, what?”

“My onus is complete, and now I must return to my tribe and fulfil my onus to them. Sparks Nevada, I wish you good fortune with all endeavours.” Croach replied, watching the human intently, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Well, wait, Croach. Really? This is it? All that time bein’ my deputy and we’re just...done?” The marshal scrambled for words. Croach detected an emotion he did not immediately recognise. Hurt, perhaps?

“Sparks Nevada, I am not, nor have I ever been, your ‘deputy’. I was merely under onus to you, and now that onus has been repaid. I am no longer bound to you, and must return to my tribe. It has been many years since I have seen them. I will visit my progenitors and speak with my tribe’s leader, Barlok the Wise. I must allay the fears of Kor’nak the Worrier, who is no doubt convinced of my demise.” Croach stated, matter-of-factly.

“Well, I mean, if’n you want to go, guess I can’t stop you. We been through a lot together; saved each others’ lives more’n I can count. I appreciate it, y’know. All your help and such. Reckon as Martians go, you ain’t such a bad one. I’ll miss you, Croach.” The marshal said, stumbling over his words and pausing awkwardly between each uncomfortably sincere sentiment.

The Martian did not know how to respond. Human conversation had always been difficult for him. “Sparks Nevada, you are the third-“ he paused, tallying his feelings like he had done so with his onus so many times and reaching a different calculation. “You are the second finest human I have ever encountered. Accompanying you has been the fifth most pleasant experience I have ever experienced.”

Croach the Tracker touched his fingers to his forehead in a gesture of farewell, then turned and walked away. He detected moisture in the vicinity of the marshal’s ocular sensors, perhaps due to the resultant dust from his departure. Human biology was a strange thing that he did not fully comprehend, though it mattered little now, he supposed. From now on, he told himself, he would be spending his time in the company of other Martians, just as it should be.

Part of him didn’t believe that, though.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed my first fic! More to come soon.


End file.
